Morgan le Fay
by Sapphire at Dawn
Summary: The story my take on the scorcerss Morgan le Fay.


_**I've taken all the chapters down on this because I'm re-writing the entire story and several things will change. This one hasn't been edited yet, but I'm working on it.**_

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Ilana the Fay awoke to feel her babe kicking inside her and instantly knew that it would not long wait before it entered the world. She rose and dressed, leaving her sleeping husband as she silently crossed the room and out of the door.

She made her way through several passages and into the entrance hall of the castle, pulled open the heavy oak doors with some difficulty, and stepped out into the night, the silver moonlight catching her white gown as she moved across the grass to the woods to the west, making it sparkle like a star. Her usually golden hair was transformed to pale silver in a trick of the light as it was whipped across her face by the light night breeze that was playing in the air.

She made her way slowly into the trees, clutching her swollen belly, moving branches aside to find the place she had set out many months ago when she had first felt the joy of her child moving about inside her, a sacred and protected place that would keep her safe through the birth thanks to the spells and enchantments she had placed on it, magic that was consecrated and inherited through her people, magic she would pass on, no doubt, to the infant soon to be born.

The only sounds the soft crunching noise as she stepped on the dead leaves that littered the floor, and occasionally the scuffle of a fox in the undergrowth, or the soft hooting of an owl, echoing from its lofty tree, eyes watching her pass, wishing her no harm.

The pain growing, she eventually stumbled into a small, mossy clearing that was illuminated with faint silver light and surrounded by silver birch trees that glistening in the moonlight. In the centre was a circle of small stones like a crown that had sunken into the forest floor. It was for this Ilana made, gasping at the power of the cramps in her stomach. This was the place that would see her safely through her delivery of a healthy child.

She gently settled herself upon the mossy ground and waited, in the protection of the stone circle, for the birth.

Several hours later, she held a new baby girl in her exhausted arms, her skin pale as snow in the moonlight, fine raven dark hair already crowning her head.

Ilana smiled as the tiny child raised a miniature fist towards her face and gurgled at her.

She wrapped her daughter carefully in white cloth from her own shawl and whispered to her gently a prophecy which came from her deep knowledge and ancient blood; 'Morgan the Fay. May the beauty of your renowned grandmother find your face. You shall be powerful and intelligent, yet you will not find it easy to forgive. Remember that to love is the greatest power, beyond anything that you or I will ever be able conjour, and is deeper magic than the powers that run through our veins. Remember this, and you shall indeed be great.'

She bent over and kissed the brow of the tiny infant brushing her pale skin with her pink lips, and together they slept deep and peacefully, in the light of the moon and in the safety of the ancient, protecting stones.

After she had recovered her strengths, Ilana gathered up her child and left the stone circle, its function now preformed, and made her way back through the trees, though it was not the last time she would visit that sacred site. She would come back here often during the years left to her, to bless her child, to ask her holy gods to protect her in whatever she became involved in, and after life too, she would be a frequent visitor, her soul roaming the clearing where she once stepped.

It was nearly dawn when she walked out of the trees and slivers of golden light were shining between the branches, streaking the ground and catching Ilana's hair, turning it to the purest gold, in contrast to the pale silver it had been during the night.

As she walked across the grass towards the doors, the men who kept watch upon the castle walls saw her coming from their posts and they cried, a sound heard by many around; 'The Lady has returned!', and her women came rushing to help her, but she would not let them support her, shrugging away their helping hands, or permit them to take the baby she clutched to her breast, tender hands stroking the soft, silky smooth raven dark hairs upon the infants head. She walked through the doors on her own, tall and strong, an extraordinary Fay, they said, wondering, as they often did, at her (what they considered) strange behaviour. It was not clear to them why she had to leave the apparent safety of the palace and stray into the wild woods surrounding to bring her baby into the world. But they did not know the ways of the Fays of Avalon. They were not like humans; they believed strongly in the power of nature and blessed their sacred gods of the earth, and wielded immense power and magic.

Ilana told her husband, Gorlois, that baby's name was to be Morgan, and he, who respected his wife, agreed, it was a beautiful name for a beautiful and perfect daughter, as any man would want.

The two had married as a political alliance between their two people, mortals and the Fays of Avalon, with whom the peace had been delicate before the marriage. Now, however, the union had now become more than a practical arrangement. Gorlois had fallen in love with Ilana's pale and fair beauty, and mystical, magical ways, which he both respected and strove to understand, so he could please her more and let her live as happy and as comfortable as she would have done in her Avalon home.

And Ilana had fallen for him too, and his strong, heroic, yet calm and peaceful nature, so much like her own. She respected him, and was grateful at his understanding towards her different race, and thought highly of him for it. In fact, it was this acceptance that had brought them close in the first place.

Yet their daughter would become more like their ancestors, ambitious, bold and defiant, than share their personality, a trait that became apparent as she grew older. But for the meantime, she slept soundly in her basket of wicker, and was cared for and tended by her mother, who sang soft lullabies in strange languages as she slumbered peacefully, and when she was awake she was calm and rarely upset, yet bold and didn't hold back her smiles, which she bestowed on all who saw her.

It was hard to tell at this moment in time, what a powerful woman she would grow to be.


End file.
